Justice
by chibiness87
Summary: What happens when the mouse bites back. Not a happy fic. Molly/OC. TRIGGER FOR ABUSE! WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Justice** , by **chibiness87**  
 **Rating: M** (for safety, possibly just a high T. Language/theme/abuse trigger warning)  
 **Spoilers** : none  
 **Disclaimer** : Sherlock belongs to other, much more talented people than me.

 **A/N:** So I started writing a new chapter for Love is a Battlefield. But then I got this earworm, and it would NOT leave me alone until I had it written it. So now I fear this too will become a WIP, which is really not useful when I already have one on the go, and have 2 6000 word essays to write!

* * *

If John hadn't been standing by the door, he doubted he would have heard the knock, such was the quiet, timid quality of it. He had almost thought he has imagined it until he heard it again. Pulling the door open slightly, he had then all but slammed it open against the wall with a gasp when he recognised the small form crumpled on the doorstep. With infinite care, he hunkered down to her eyelevel. "Molly?"

At the sound of his voice, she raised her head slightly, and John was met with the sight of her beaten, bruised face. "Oh my…" He turned, yelling his friends name into the house. "SHERLOCK!"

John turned back to the small, cowed form, reaching for her, only to pull his hand back when she shied away from him with a moan. "Molly, hey, can you hear me? It's John."

The clattering of the stairs foretold him of his friend's arrival. "John? What's…?" He stopped suddenly as John moved away slightly, allowing Sherlock to see what held his attention so. Sherlock gasped. "Molly?"

At the sound of his voice, Molly finally seemed to show some sort of recognition. "Sherlock?"

With the most care he had ever seen his friend show anyone, Sherlock knelt down, bringing his eyelevel to match hers. "Yeah, Molly. It's me."

Her eyes welled with tears, and Molly all but fell into his embrace. John watched as Sherlock gently wrapped his arms around her slim form, cradling her gently against his body. After a moment which seemed to last hours, Sherlock bent his head, whispering into her ear. Whatever had been said seemed to calm her, as Molly nodded, before she lifted her own arm up until her hand circled his neck. Carefully, Sherlock stood, Molly now held in his arms. With a nod, John followed them as he carried their friend upstairs back into their flat.

Moving to the sofa, Sherlock attempted to settle her, but her arm kept a tight grasp on his neck, and so Sherlock settled on the seat cushions, Molly now seated in his lap. John came over to them both, concern etched on his face. He knelt down, once again reached his arm forward, glad when this time she did not pull away from him.

"Can I see?"

With her eyes closed against Sherlock's shoulder, Molly gave a small nod. Instead of raising her head so he could see the more obvious injuries, however, Molly pulled the edge of her oversized jumper up, exposing her lower abdomen. The mottling of bruises, some a deep purple, others a more sickening green/yellow hue, told their own story.

John swore, his eyes flying up to meet those of his friend. If John's eyes were stormy, it was nothing to what was showing in Sherlock's eyes as he too took in the bruising. The cold, dead look in his eyes made a shiver run down his spine.

John was angry, yes. But Sherlock?

Sherlock was positively furious.

John clenched his hand into a fist. "I'm going to fucking kill him."

"No. You won't." This came from the small frame still huddled tightly to Sherlock's chest.

Before either of them could ask, Molly raised her head, meeting both of their gazes with a defiant one of her own.

It was Sherlock who broke the tense silence that had fallen over them with her declaration, wariness in his tone. "Molly?"

"You won't kill him," she stated again, "because I already have."

* * *

TBC

Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

**Justice, chapter 2,** by **chibiness87  
Rating: M  
Spoilers: **None for this chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to other, much more talented people than me.

 **A/N:** This chapter is more scene setting than any actual action; please bear with me - it sows the seed.

* * *

Five months earlier

It is the sound of a lorry reversing outside his bedroom window that wakes him. He wishes it would shut up; it's driving him mad. Who even reverses up the street anyway? Isn't it one way? The noise continues, a constant beep. It must be an older model; the new ones all have that annoying automated voice warning instead. Except no, that makes absolutely no sense, because his bedroom window does not face the street. And he has a duvet on his bed, not, as his hand is telling him from where it lies on top of the covers, a sheet. Ah. So. Not his bedroom then. This could become quite awkward. He feels like he's been run over, and then ran over again for good measure. Jesus, what the hell was he drinking last night?

Wait, wasn't he on duty? At a crime scene with Sherlock? A sense of unease washes over him, and finally, Greg manages to crack one eye open. He is met with the sight of a heartrate monitor. Well, that at least explains the constant beeping.

He lets his eye roam as far around the room as he can from his recumbent position. The chair by his bedside is empty, but there is evidence that he has not been alone. Just as his eye feels too heavy to stay awake any longer, the door to his room opens. The sound of the bickering men instantly ceases when they notice he is conscious.

As they approach, Dr Watson moving to read over his chart (which, hey, isn't that supposed to be private?) Greg manages to croak, "Wha' hapnd t' me? I get shot?"

Sherlock gives him a small smirk at that. It is very discomforting. "Nothing as dramatic as that, I'm afraid."

Dr Watson comes over to stand beside his friend. "Your appendix ruptured."

"Huh?" It is about the limit of his vocabulary at the moment. But then, hey, he is in a hospital bed.

Dr Watson lays a hand against his shoulder. He wasn't even aware he'd tried to sit up, and falls back to the bed with ease. "I wouldn't try moving just yet. You have just undergone several hours of surgery. It'll take some time for you to be up and about again."

"Yes, do try to rest, Greg."

Both he and Dr Watson stare at Sherlock in shock. With a groan, Greg finally mutters, "Oh God, what do you want?"

"I don't follow."

Greg sighs. "You got my name right." He pauses a moment to think. "And you're being surprisingly civil to me about this."

Sherlock binks. "Excuse me?"

Greg sighs. Why can't they just leave him alone to rest? "Well, normally, you're all get up let's go solve a crime, no matter the inconvenience it might land on others, not to mention you pretending to forget my name every minute of the day. You're not normally so…" He trails off, waving his hand feebly in the air, trying to come up with a work that best suits how Sherlock is currently behaving.

"So… what?"

"Patient." Dr Watson gives Greg a grin as they speak in unison.

Sherlock ducks his head. It's… strangely bashful. "Ah. Yes. Well, in this particular instance I do feel a modicum of pity for you."

Greg blinks. "Pity."

Sherlock nods. "Yes. Pity." He gives a small cough. "Empathy, if you will."

It is Dr Watson who pieces it together first. (In Greg's defence, he's just barely clinging on to consciousness at this juncture. He would have gone back to sleep, but this insight to Sherlock Holmes is priceless. He's not about to miss it.) "You've had appendicitis."

Sherlock groans, evidently regretting sharing this with them. "Yes. When I was a child. Mycroft accused me of faking it and refused to inform our patents of my being taken ill. It ruptured before they could operate. The pain… it was… not pleasant."

Dr Watson is staring at his friend in apparent shock. "How did I not know you had your appendix removed?"

Sherlock shrugs. "You never asked."

"But… I've seen you naked!"

This is more than Greg wants to know. Before he can delete that small piece of knowledge from his brain, he instead finds himself asking, "You have?!"

Sherlock, apparently not fussed at all about his nakedness being the topic of discussion, has the gall to wink at him. "Jealous?"

While he just gaps at the Consulting Detective he swore once was a friend, Dr Watson takes it upon himself to smack the grinning douche up the back of his head. "Don't be a berk."

Sherlock turns to face Dr Watson, his hand rubbing the spot his friend has just injured. "Besides, I have not seen you naked and I know you have also had your appendix removed. Nine, ten years ago?"

Dr Watson blinks. "Eleven. How did you…"

Sherlock waves his hand in the air. "You used to rub your hand over the scar. It would be an odd gesture, but then, knowing your past," he pauses to look up at his friend, an assessing tilt to his head, "maybe not?"

"Blew in Afghanistan, yeah. Not the most useful of places to go down for the count. Didn't exactly have state of the art facilities like Bart's here over there, y'know?" And indeed, Greg notices, his hand has come up to rub over the old scar.

Greg blinks, taking in this new information. "We're at Bart's?"

Sherlock looks at him as if he has grown another head. "Of course we are."

Dr Watson takes over when it is clear that that is all Sherlock is going to give them. "It was the closest hospital to the crime scene where you collapsed, and it's given princess here," he nods his head towards Sherlock, and then totally ignores the dirty look he gets in return, "something to concentrate on while you've been under the knife."

"Oh." Greg nods, before looking up at the two of them again. "Who's taken lead on the case then?"

It is Sherlock who replies. "That new guy, the one with us at the scene. Didn't catch his name."

Greg gives a small smile of relief. "Oh. Peters? Yeah, that's ok then." When Sherlock gives his a look that yells _explain_ , he does so. "He's new, sort of green, but seems to know his head from his arse." The assessing look Sherlock gives him lets him know what he thinks of that summation. Well, screw him. He can just bugger right off. Actually… "But, look, you guys know I'm not gonna be around for the next few days."

Dr Watson coughs. "Weeks."

Greg gives the doctor a small nod in appeasement. "Weeks. So just," he sighs, "play nice, will you?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes at him. "Gavin. Really. When have you known me to not play nice?"

There is a beat of silence where the three of them stare at each other; Sherlock the only one who seems blind to the irony, if not blatant untruth, of the question. (Because, seriously?)

Greg is the first one to break the silence. If he can get them to go away, he might yet manage to salvage some more sleep. "You know what I mean. Just don't be… you."

"Would it really be so bad?"

"Yes!"  
"Would what really be so bad?" The new voice from the doorway that asks the question even as Dr Watson answers Sherlock saves Greg from leaping out the bed and throttling the consulting detective. But it is a close run thing by this point.

"Molly!"

She nods at the three of them in turn, before her attention is caught (and really, when is it not) by the taller of the two men stood at his bedside.

"Hello, Sherlock." She pauses, blushing slightly. When he does not respond, but merely blinks at her, she continues. "You, uh, you asked me to get you. When the centrifuge had finished?"

At this Sherlock does smile. Without another word to the small pathologist, he gives both men a small tip of his head. "Great. Later, John. George."

"Hang on. I thought you wanted me too…"

He'll never know what Dr Watson thought Sherlock wanted of him, as the two of them sweep out of the room, evidently on the way to the Path lab. With a tilt of her head, Molly motioned after their retreating forms. "I guess I'd better go, make sure they don't break anything." With a soft smile and a small wave, she turned to leave. "Bye, Greg. Feel better."

Greg sighed in the echoing silence that followed her departure. Alone once more with the still annoying beeping of the heart monitor. And Sherlock was apparently working a case for the Met without him. He groaned. What could possibly go wrong?

* * *

TBC

Thoughts?

A/N: If anyone wants a moment to know what it is like being me, and where the heck this chapter came from, read on.

Muse: They need to have 'a moment'.  
Me: 'a moment'? Like a 'we're all in this together bonding moment'? Are you sure?  
Muse: Yes.  
Me: Um, ok… over what?  
Muse: well, all of their appendix could have needed operating on.  
Me: Male bonding over appendicitis?  
Muse: *Shrug* Yup.  
Me: oh, go on then!


End file.
